404 Error
by lamentomori
Summary: "The idea of seeing him ruined, the thought of Punk, strong-willed, determined, driven, clear-headed Punkers begging you to let him come overtook any other scenario you could conjure up" (7 Sins continuity) Warnings: Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut, Profanity, Edging, Sexual aides.


2nd person Colt PoV Warnings: Slash, Smut, Profanity, Edging, Sexual aides.

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You're watching his match from the back, he's adjusted himself at least a dozen times so far, using the ridiculously hideous tights that you talked him into wearing as an excuse but you know the real reason. A lazy grin spreads over your lips as you stand leaning against a wall watching him wrestle what is the world's most basic match with your hands stuffed in your jacket pockets. You're getting some odd looks from the other boys in the back but you ignore them, let them speculate and ponder as much as they want, you're not telling them anything.

"I fucking _hate_ you." He hisses as he walks past you, heading to the locker room. You bark a laugh at his back as he stalks down the corridor, following him at a sedate pace.

"Not showering, Punkers?" You ask him, you know you sound ridiculously smug, he glares at you, face flushed, you're certain only you and he know the real reason for the flush on his skin, his match wasn't that strenuous after all.

"_I fucking loathe you, Cabana._" is all he says as he pulls clothes on over his wrestling gear. "Let's go." You've already collected the $50 you're getting between you for tonight and really, you think he's had about as much of this as he can take, in public at least. You grab his and your bags and follow him out the rental, where he settles himself into the passenger's seat carefully.

"You okay?"

"Fucking _hate_ you so fucking much, fucker." He mutters, shifting uncomfortably, you smirk at him.

"So you keep saying, Punkers. This was your idea, you could have put an end to it anytime, you know." You take your hand off the wheel, make a quick detour to your pocket and then stroke his thigh, as he writhes again.

"Fuck. Two hands on the wheel!" Your smirk is so big it's beginning to hurt your face. "Get us to the fucking hotel in one piece, fucker." He moves carefully in his seat again, his head back against the headrest, eyes closed, his breathing unusually shallow and quick, his face flushed, hair sweaty and clinging to his forehead. "Eyes on the fucking road, fucker." He snaps, you nod and pay attention to traffic, rather than the more interesting sight of him squirming and panting.

Checking in at the motel was an odd experience, usually Punkers would flirt with the desk clerk to try and get you both a better room and nine times out of ten, his efforts pay off but today he slumps over the counter and leaves you to deal with them.

"Is he okay?" The clerk asks you, they look overly concerned about the sweaty, slightly flushed, scruffy looking man collapsed over their desk, you move his hair out of his eyes and he glares at you.

"You okay, Punkers?" You ask him softly, he eloquently gives you the finger.

"_I hate you_." He snarls again, you chuckle and pat his cheek.

"He'll be fine, just a bit under the weather. Bad shellfish, I think." The clerk nods sympathetically and you wrap an arm around his waist; guide him to the room that you've just secured. As soon you close the door and hit the lights, he starts getting undressed, his movements frantic and hurried. You watch him, your smirk firmly back on your lips. When he bends to start untying his boots, you press the little button on the small remote control in your pocket and he lets out a pitifully soft moan, pausing in his actions.

"Fuck, fuck, stop it." He moans bent at the waist panting softly, you kneel down in front of him, move his hair so you can see his eyes and press the button again. "Fuck. Fucking hate you." He gasps; you smirk at him and untie his boots for him, feeling his quick shallow breaths on your face. As soon as they're untied, he kicks the boots off, pulls the clothes from his lower body and tackles you, knocking you on your back, his hands tugging at your clothes, sneaking into your pocket and grabbing the little remote, pressing the little button. "Fucker, I give, I can't take any more. Fuck me." You laugh and push him off of you, stand and sit on the bed; he straddles your legs, kissing you frantically. "Get this thing off me, fucker." He moans into your ear, referring to the ring that is wrapped firmly around his cock, keeping it hard, this was why he kept adjusting himself, trying to keep his bound erection from being discovered by the maybe 30 people in the audience and the weekend warrior in the ring with him. You trail one hand down his spine to his ass, to his tight little hole and push the end of the plug inside of him. Though it's small and designed to be worn for a long time, having it inside of him during a match, even an easy one like the one he wrestled tonight must have been difficult, even more so, because of the vibrations you were controlling with the little remote lying on the floor.

"I was sure you'd want this out first." You press a kiss to his temple, his hair slightly damp with sweat, as you push on the end of the plug again.

"Off, out, don't care, I wanna come, Cabana." He presses soft frantic kisses to your throat as he talks. "Hurry up, fucker, wanna come now."

"But that's not what you said you wanted, Punkers." And it isn't. Maybe a week ago, you'd been bored and playing about on the internet, looking up random things, for a change not on YouTube watching old matches or promos. You somehow ended up looking up different sexual positions, you'd sent him the ones that looked the most ludicrous or uncomfortable, got his comments back, mostly mockery and disdain until you sent him the article on edging, something in it caught his attention.

_We're trying that. - Punkers _

You weren't sure really, it hadn't appealed to you but it's rare that he picks something to do on the occasions you fuck and you didn't want to dismiss him outright so you did some research. You bought the cock-ring and plug once you decided that the idea of seeing him as ruined as the people in those videos you watched, _solely_ for research, became something you really truly needed to see. The thought of Punk, strong-willed, determined, driven, clear-headed Punkers _begging_ you to let him come overtook any other scenario you could conjure up in your mind.

You stroke his bound cock slowly, he moans, hands tugging on the roots of your hair. You keep stroking him building up speed and then when he's panting and so very close to coming you stop.

"Fuck." He swears softly, panting by your ear. "Get it off, please." He's trying for sweet and nice but you can hear the threat of _now or I'll fucking kill you_, you laugh at him and start stroking his cock again, fast and firm, twisting your wrist when you reach the head, making him gasp and groan, only to stop once more when he's close. He makes an indistinct noise low in his throat. You lean back on your elbows and watch him struggle to get his breathing back under control.

"Come on you, c'mere." You tug him by the back of the neck to you; he supports his weight on his forearms and rubs his cock against your still clothed groin. You let him thrust against you for a few minutes, let him get close again and then flip him on to his back and get off the bed. He actually growls at your actions, you smirk at him. "Getting impatient, Punkers?" You ask him as you pick up the little remote and press the little button, he keens softly and you smirk as he squirms on the bed, his hips arching into the air. You start getting undressed, pressing the button with each piece of clothing you take off, make the plug vibrate more and more inside of him each time. When you're finally naked, his hands are clawing at the comforter on the bed, his skin, slick with sweat, is glistening in the overly harsh lights. "You okay, Punkers?" You switch the plug off once more and slowly withdraw it from his body, he makes an odd noise you're sure you've never heard from him before but vow that before this night is over you're going to hear it again. You leave him lying gasping for breath to go and collect the lube from your bag.

"No. No, no, no, no, I'm not okay, fucker." You'd forgotten you'd asked if he was okay when he answers, you were so very caught up in staring at him as he lies sweaty and half-delirious with desire, writhing on the bed. "_Need_ to come. Hurry, fucker." You smirk at him, remove the cock-ring and pour a generous amount of lube over his cock, if your research has taught you one thing, it's that this is going to take a lot of lubricant. "_Finally!"_ He arches into your hand as you slowly, so very slowly begin jacking him off. "_Faster."_ You shake your head.

"You're the one who wanted to try this, Punkers, I'm just doing what you wanted."

"Alls I want is faster" He bucks his hips into your hand again, you retaliate by moving it even slower and pinning his hips down with your forearm.

"What you wanted was to see how long you could hold out, wanted to test that self-control of yours." As you speak you begin to stroke him faster.

"Yes." He hisses softly, you pick up speed bringing him closer and closer to the edge, only to stop, pouring more lube over his firm shaft. "Fuck." He groans, his body taut with unreleased tension. "I changed my mind, don't care how long, _now_." You kiss him, a soft languid kiss matched by the strokes you start giving him again, building speed quickly, when he breaks the kiss, you stop stroking his cock. He's given up even swearing at you, he just thumps his fist against the bed and screws his eyes shut. You press kisses down his throat as you start stroking him again, the further down his torso you get the faster you stroke until you're pressing kisses to his pelvic bone and he's panting, so very close to coming, you stop, he makes an inarticulate noise and spreads his legs wider. "Fuck me, Colt, please." You smirk at him and pour more lube over his cock, you take him in one hand and slide two fingers of the other inside of his still slightly open hole, you stroke him slowly and stretch him carefully. The temptation to rush one or both is strong, you're certain you've never seen him this undone, never seen him anything close to this, it's intoxicating. As you prep his ass for you, you bring him closer and closer to orgasm, once you're sure he's ready for you and ready to come, you remove your hands from him, hear him make that new curious noise. You place the head of your cock at his hole and stroke his hair from his eyes, he looks at you, somehow managing to be able to look mildly irritated despite, possibly because of, everything you've done to him so far tonight. "You want me to beg fucker?" He manages to say between gasping breaths.

"Wanted your attention, is all." You tell him as you slide inside of him in one long slow stroke, his back arches off the bed, that new sound echoing in your ears. You fuck him with the same long, slow steady strokes until he's moaning softly in time with your thrusts, then you pull out and start jacking yourself off.

"Colton, what the fuck are you doing?" He wraps a leg around your waist and draws you back to him. You slide inside of him again, fucking him a little harder, a little faster but once he seems close you pull out, withdraw from his body and leave him panting for you.

"Fuck, please." He pants; he's flushed red, from his scalp as far down as you can see, as sweaty and out of breath as he is after a long match. "Please, Scott, I need to come. Fuck me." You enter him a third time and start pounding into him, your thrusts as hard and fast as you can manage, he's almost constantly moaning, his hands clutching at your hair, his breath fast and shallow. He's absolutely wrecked, you think, a smirk on your face.

"Can come this time, Phil." You tell him as you fist his cock, stroking him only a few times before he comes with a drawn out groan that's an odd mixture of _fuck _and Scott. You come a heartbeat after him and rest your head on his shoulder. "Okay?" You ask him but he's already asleep, you pull out of his body and sit back on your haunches to watch him sleep. He looks to be completely out, you smile and stroke his sweaty hair from his face, press a kiss to his brow before going to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping him down as best you can, wiping sweat and cum, so much cum, from his body. Once he's as clean as you're going to get him, you settle down on the bed beside him, lying on your side, in the sliver of space he's not sprawled on. You press a kiss the Pepsi globe on his shoulder and fall asleep.

You wake to an empty bed; on the pillow beside you is a scrawled note.

_I fucking hate you! I'm fucking limping! You're NEVER using Google again, fucker! - Punk_

_ps. I have an idea for next time. X_

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_A.N. _On the title, 404 error is something I see on a regular basis, obviously its the this page has not been found or in my case Beijing doesn't want you going here for some reason, it amused me to apply it to the constantly denied orgasm of Punk.

Review if you like, I'd be grateful. I would be even more grateful if you've any kinks or interesting inspiration or ideas to share. :)


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